Harry Potter and the Mage's Epoch
by silentclock
Summary: The world is ablaze. Demons from the past refuse to be shaken, and only Britain stands outside the inferno. With the walls closing in around them, Albus Dumbledore and Minister for Magic Tom Riddle prepare for a desperate final push. As fate would have it, they're bringing Harry Potter along for the ride. Things are about to heat up.
1. Changing of the Guard

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related intellectual properties belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended in this, or any subsequent chapters.

As always, thanks to BarneyXII and DLP at large.

* * *

_I've little use for such appellations as good and evil. There are men who take up the reigns and guide their civilizations forward, and there are men who are content to die in obscurity. I find the latter to be particularly loathsome creatures._

_-T.M. Riddle_

**Chapter One**

_When men speak of battle, they do it reverently, with precisely timed pauses and well-practiced changes of inflection. They tell tales of heroic successes and noble defeats. They talk of armies and soldiers, of martyrs and saints, of death for a cause and victory at a price._

_They don't mention the smell._

"It ought to be any moment now, Albus," Harry Potter said, the silver Head Boy's badge glistening on his chest. Albus Dumbledore sat across from him, on the other side of his desk, its surface nearly covered with books and rolls of parchment. Harry looked past the Headmaster to the wireless, humming on the other side of the office. Through the static, he could barely make out the sound of Helena Howsham crooning about a wizard from Worcester. The late Headmistress McQuillen bobbed her head in a portrait above the radio.

Dumbledore scratched at a scrap of parchment with his quill, covering it with his elegant, looping script. He looked up.

"Hmm? Oh yes, indeed. Alexander has always been quite punctual." He wrote another word, before picking the quill back up, a brief frown crossing his face. "If nothing else."

Harry rose to his feet, stretching out his arms. He walked to a side of the office, picking a trinket up from he shelf. It was made of thin strips of silver, suspending a slowly rotating obsidian sphere. Nothing but magic could have held the device together. With both hands, he sat it back on the shelf, making sure it was stable before letting go. "Is Kingsley expecting any problems with the transition?"

"A bit of hassle in reworking the security details, perhaps." Dumbledore stared down for a second, tapping a finger on his desk. He scratched out a word. "Nothing too major, I should think."

"Never thought I'd see the day," Harry said, again casting his eyes at the wireless. "The SP out of power in England."

"Some would say it has been a long time coming." Dumbledore spoke without looking up from his writing. "The Sorcerers' majority in the Wizengamot has been dwindling these past several years."

"They've kept the peace well enough," Harry said. He fell back into his chair. "That can't have been easy."

"No, I should think not." Dumbledore's eyes scanned the parchment, and he shook his head. He flicked his wand, and the missive levitated, hovering over the desk, and off to the side. It ignited, glowing bright for just a moment, its ashes landing neatly in the wastebin. Dipping his quill back into the ink well, he grabbed another roll. "But the public is clamoring for a new approach."

"Let's hope the MLP's got the answers, then."

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his silvery beard, looking down at the blank parchment. He chuckled. "Oh my, yes, they have the answers. They would hardly be politicians without them. But do they know the questions?"

Harry looked at the Headmaster for a long moment. He cracked a smile. "Sage as ever, Albus."

Dumbledore laughed aloud. "One of the many benefits of living as long as I have-along with a newfound fondness for prune juice and a discount card for Archibald's Apothecary."

"I can hardly wait," Harry deadpanned.

The radio in the back went silent for just a moment, Harry's eyes finding it again, before a man's voice came through over the static. "My fellow Britons-"

"Ah, here it is," Harry said. He waved his wand, and the man's voice grew louder.

"I want to thank you." The man spoke loudly, with confidence. "I want to thank you for the trust that you have put in the Sorcerers' Party-for the faith you've shown me."

Harry snorted. "I don't remember much faith when they named him party head."

The man continued, saying, "My father came to England under the cover of darkness, just as the war was breaking out, without much more than the robes on his back. Britain offered him shelter, a chance to start afresh. He took a low-paying job at the cauldron-makers and rented a room in Diagon Alley. He'd have never guessed that just a few short decades later, his son would become the Minister for Magic.

"In my lifetime, I've seen the people of Britain come together, and rise above the violence that has consumed the rest of the world. I've watched as we have welcomed refugees, like my father, with open arms-French, German, Spanish, all have been treated as friends; all have become part of our community. I could not be any more proud of what you, all of you, have done for our brothers and sisters across the world-"

"Don't suppose that matches your recollection of it, eh Albus?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled, looking down at the parchment, scratching his chin, and the Minister spoke again.

"As I stand here today, on my last day as your Minister for Magic, I stand before a nation at a crossroads. We've two paths before us. We could go left, towards entanglement, towards a confrontation with the forces of darkness. Or we could go right and do nothing, hoping to remain secure on our island. I know not what the future holds. Nor do I know which path we should take. But I firmly believe that it will be the people of this country, not the might of the Ministry, to lead us through the darkness, and into a brighter tomorrow.

"My friends, as I stand here, I fear. I fear what the days ahead might bring. I fear that I've not done enough to prepare us for the times to come. But I know that the people of this great nation will stand tall and united-dedicated to peace, but always ready to fight for justice."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, with a small smile on his face. He shook his head.

"We've been fighting, one way or another, as long as I've been alive. We've been blitzed. We've been bowed. But we have never been, and will never be, broken. I know it's hard. I know there will be days where we just don't feel like carrying on. But it is _our _might that has held the darkness at bay. It is _our _strength that will allow us to push it back, if that is the path we choose to take. It is the supreme force of _our _will that will forever keep us free." The Minister hit a crescendo, then paused.

"Always has been able to work a crowd, hasn't he?" Harry asked. Dumbledore didn't look up. "Say, what are you writing, anyway?"

"To those who voted for the Sorcerers' Party last month, you have my eternal gratitude. I know that my administration hasn't been perfect, and I am grateful for your continued support. I ask that you stand with me again, this time behind the MLP and their new Ministry; for it is by standing together that we show our true strength.

"It has been my privilege and my honor to serve as your Minister these past nine years. With your courage and your resolve, with your resilience in the face of overwhelming odds, you have continued to inspire me." He spoke slowly now, his words laced with emotion. "I know he won't need it, not when he has the strength of the British people to hold him up, but to you, Minister Riddle, I wish you the best of luck and the greatest of success. I pray that you will help to make Britain all that she can be."

The feed ended, and another man's voice replaced the Minister's. "Well, there you have it. Minister Renault has just concluded his farewell address, and I think you could hear what has made him so personally popular, even as the SP's stock has plummeted. His message was not one of policy, but of unity. He was at times passionate, at other times contemplative-"

"A Renault apologist to the last," another man interrupted. "He's been an ineffectual leader from start to finish-no substance, but more hot air than a Horntail. No reason to expect anything more from him on his way out. I told you when they named him party head, and I'm telling you now, a Frenchman like Renault will never have the best interests of English people-"

With a wave of Harry's wand, the wireless went silent. He looked at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's eyes scanned his writings, and he nodded. "Yes, that will do, I think."

"Albus? What on earth-"

"Fawkes?" The phoenix hopped from its perch and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder. The Headmaster rolled the parchment tight, tying it with a piece of twine. "If you would be so kind."

Fawkes took the note into his beak and disappeared in a burst of flame.

"What was that note you spent the last hour writing?" Harry asked.

"An invitation."

"An invitation?" Harry asked. "An invitation to what?"

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, and Harry sighed loudly, tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair. Minutes passed, and Fawkes reappeared on Dumbledore's shoulder, carrying a new piece of parchment. Dumbledore took it and smiled.

"Very good. Minister Riddle will be joining me for tea this Sunday," Dumbledore said. He opened the desk's top drawer and placed the letter inside. "I would like very much for you to join us."

Harry laughed. "Did you really just spend the better part of an evening on a note asking your old protegé to tea?"

Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye, his hands folded in front of him. "One ought not to choose his words lightly, Harry, least of all when dealing with a wizard as clever as Tom Riddle. Never forget that."

"You've been the man's mentor for fifty years, Albus. I hardly think-" Dumbledore raised his hand, and Harry went silent.

"Tom has been increasingly distant of late. I have always worried-" Dumbledore paused. He sighed. "Tom Riddle is the most brilliant student I have ever taught-no offense intended, of course-but there are certain facets of his personality that I have tried to ... suppress. Certain beliefs I have tried to quash. By and large, I have succeeded in that effort."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, perplexed. "Sir, I don't understand."

"Nor would I expect you to. I daresay that no one knows Tom Riddle as well as me. Brilliant, an unparalleled knack for magic, but he was, and to some extent still is, hungry for power-magical, political, any kind, really. It is why I was reluctant to teach him advanced magics as a young man; it is why I did not wish to see him become Minister."

"You didn't want Tom to become Minister?"

"I did not," Dumbledore agreed.

"Why?" Harry asked. "You know as well as I do that he'll do a better job than Renault."

"You mistake me. I do not doubt his capacity to do the job. I worry, however, what the job might do to him." Dumbledore looked past Harry at nothing in particular, not saying anything for a long moment. "Power is a tricky business, Harry, dreadfully tricky. It makes a man more susceptible to his ... ah, restrained desires.

"I was very careful in his training, you understand. I took things slowly, never gave him access to more than he could handle. It was a slower process than he wanted, naturally, but it kept him safe. Powerful magics can be corruptive, as I am sure you have realized. A wizard must be exceedingly careful when learning them. Had I not been there to supervise Tom's learning, I shudder to think..."

Dumbledore looked past Harry, his eyes finding something at the front of the office. Harry turned his head.

An ethereal serpent, a Patronus Harry recognized instantly, slithered through the door. He rubbed his arms, shivering as the creature passed him by, sticking out its tongue as it faced Dumbledore. It spoke in a hiss. "Grindelwald is amassing his forces at Calais. Be ready."


	2. Fight on the Beaches

"It would seem, Harry, that we have places to be." Dumbledore watched the snake Patronus as it faded, until nothing more than a wisp remained, and it rose slowly toward the ceiling. Knees cracking, he stood. "I trust that you will not object too strenuously to missing Aurora's lesson this evening?"

Harry rose to his feet, his hand moving toward his wand. "You're taking me with you?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. He drew a cloak of midnight blue, covered with shimmering stars, from a rack against the wall and threw it over his shoulders. "One can learn only so much in a controlled environment. Experience is the best way forward, I think."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. He swallowed, and rubbed his hands against his robes, drying his palms. "Yeah, I suppose I'm ready."

"You _are_ ready, Harry," Dumbledore said. He looked Harry in the eye and placed a hand on his shoulder. The Headmaster smiled. "You have earned my trust many times over."

Dumbledore gestured to the door, and it sprang open. "Let us be off."

Harry nodded. Dumbledore started walking, with Harry falling in step behind him as they crossed the threshold. They descended the spiral staircase leading away from the Headmaster's office in silence. The stone gargoyle at the bottom rumbled closed as they passed. Without looking back, Dumbledore pointed his wand at the stone guardian, and it glowed blue for a moment, locking into place. They continued forward.

"I was not much older than you are now when Nicolas first allowed me to accompany him," Dumbledore said as they made their way down the hallway, Harry walking at his side. The stone corridor had no windows, only flickering torches on the walls to light the way forward. Shadows flitted across the stone floor as the men moved. "I was quite petrified, naturally."

Harry snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"Hmm. Perhaps a bit of an overstatement. But it was a rather nerve-racking experience." Dumbledore paused. "I am sure Nicolas would delight in telling you the tale. It is one of his favorites."

Neither said anything for a long moment as they turned into another corridor, heading for the stairs. Finally, Harry sighed. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"

Dumbledore looked straight ahead, the corners of his mouth upturned.

"You really get a kick out of this, don't you?" Harry laughed. "Okay, I'll bite. What happened?"

Dumbledore looked straight ahead as they reached the Grand Staircase and began their descent, unable to contain his smile now. "There was once a time when it was quite fashionable for European wizards to tour the Orient on their graduation. Then the Boxer Rebellion began, and a Chinese warlock took to decapitating British wizards on holiday. The Ministry wanted nothing to do with it, so Nicolas took it upon himself to resolve the problem."

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"We portkeyed to the Forbidden City and cast out our net. It took us weeks, but we eventually tracked him to a fishing village in Manchuria, just north of Korea. The locals were ... reluctant to assist us. One particularly charming Muggle woman attacked me with a filleting knife." They reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase, and stepped into the entryway. "We found him by chance, while we were trying to persuade a vendor to give us directions."

The low din of conversation and clatter of silverware greeted them as they entered the Great Hall. Harry's eyes scanned the house tables. Perhaps half the seats were empty, as students had begun trickling out with dinner nearing its end. He looked at the Gryffindor table. His gaze fell on a girl with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. She looked at him, frowning, tapping her fingers against the table.

"Oh, bugger," Harry muttered. He shrugged, doing his best to look apologetic.

"You did tell Miss Chenault you would be dining in my office this evening, I trust." Dumbledore said.

"Well, not in so many words." Harry ran a hand through his hair. He sighed. "I'm going to be in trouble when we get back, aren't I?"

Dumbledore laughed. "That seems a safe prediction, yes."

Harry mouthed an apology as he and Dumbledore walked across the Hall, to the double doors at the front. The girl's eyes narrowed, and she stood, backing away from the table and making her way toward the exit.

The doors sprang open as Dumbledore approached. A gust of cold air ruffled Harry's hair as they stepped onto the grounds. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, and drew his wand to cast a warming charm. His breath hung visibly in the air. The sun sat low in the sky, the horizon glowing orange. "The Chinese warlock, did you duel him?"

"Not as such," Dumbledore said. "When we found him, he was returning from the opium den, and could hardly stand. He took off three of his own fingers trying to cast with the wrong end of his wand."

Harry laughed, and they continued forward in silence. The lane cut through the Hogwarts' grounds, stretching near the Black Lake, crossing a brook with a stone bridge. It ended at a pair of wrought-iron gates, opening to the road leading to Hogsmeade.

"Have you ever been to Dover, Harry?" Dumbledore asked when they reached the gates. Harry shook his head. "No matter. I will take you."

Harry took the Headmaster's arm, and they spun, disappearing with a crack.

They reappeared on a beach. Harry stumbled as he landed, his foot falling on a rock. Waving his arms, he steadied himself, avoiding a fall into the sand. Ahead of him stood Dover's white cliffs, shining in the last rays of the setting sun, standing in stark contrast to the darkened Channel below. The water was perfectly, impossibly still, and the beach was silent.

Harry didn't know if it had once been possible to see Calais from Dover, but he certainly couldn't see it now. The sun's light died perhaps a mile from the coast, consumed by a wall of shadow stretching as wide and as high as the eye could see. What existed behind that wall, Harry could only imagine. The impenetrable blackness seemed to inch its way forward. It stretched around the entire island, choking it like a snake, he knew. The Muggles blamed it on the Yanks' atomic bombs, or some such nonsense. It was a perfect darkness, a darkness greater than night, a darkness from which there could be no escape.

"Albus!" A man called out. He stood tall, with dark hair, wearing finely cut robes. The first hint of wrinkles had begun to form over his handsome features. A dozen wizards stood behind him, wearing crimson robes and grave expressions. "How good of you to join us."

"Tom." The men shook hands quickly. "I would never miss a chance at enjoying your company."

"And Mister Potter." The man faced Harry. "I'd wondered when Albus might decide to bring you along. Hopefully we won't have to deal with anything too exciting tonight."

"Minister Riddle," Harry said. He shook the Minister's hand. The man had an unpleasantly tight grip. "Always a pleasure, sir."

"What is the situation, precisely?" Dumbledore asked.

"Our devices have indicated an alarmingly high amount of magic on the other side of the Channel," Minister Riddle said. "Of course, with Grindelwald, we can never be sure exactly what he's planning, but something here is certainly amiss."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said.

Suddenly, Harry could hear the swish of the tide. The water in front of them trickled forward, released from its chains. Something in the distance, behind the wall, roared. The sea swirled, a cyclone of force pushing the water outward. Harry shivered as the spray hit him. He lifted the top of his robes, wiping his glasses.

The sea sunk in the middle, and the roar became deafening. Pressed down toward the Channel's floor, the water rose to the sides, suspended in the air. It formed a path, perhaps a hundred meters wide, stretching back at least as far as the curtain shrouding the island.

"Showy bastard," Harry muttered.

A grey mass emerged from the darkness. It took up nearly the entire width of the pass and seemed to spread, as it moved quickly toward the coast.

The Ministry wizards fanned out along the shoreline, their wands trained on the stream of grey that poured out of the black. Dumbledore stepped forward, waving his wand at the parted sea. Riddle joined the Headmaster at the front, and Harry drew his own wand.

As the grey mass grew nearer, Harry could see spaces in it. It was not one entity, but a legion. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of individuals moved as one, toward the shore. Harry sniffed, and nearly gagged. Over the smell of the salt water hung the pervasive stench of decay. These weren't people, he realized, but corpses-the Inferi, flesh and bone brought back to life. Their skin stretched tight over their bloated bodies, chunks of rotting flesh falling from their bones as they moved.

They ambled across the sea floor, moving more quickly than Harry would have thought possible. As those at the front neared the shore, more continued to pour from the darkness. They were identical, Harry realized, every one of them. Or, at least they had been, before decomposition had set in. They were all young girls, perhaps fifteen years old, with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes.

He looked to Dumbledore. The Headmaster held his wand loosely at his side, his eyes wide. His blue eyes, which looked awfully similar to-

Harry looked back at the swarm of Inferi, growing ever nearer. "Oh, _fuck_!"

Harry stepped in front of Dumbledore, between the Headmaster and the Inferi swarm, his wand already moving. He cast forth a curtain of flames, hot enough to singe the hair on his arms. With a look to his right, he saw the Minister doing the same. Harry expected the creatures to turn back at the sight of the fire, but they continued marching forward. The horde ambled into the flames.

The acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted Harry's nostrils. The Inferi emerged from the flames, blackened, but still moving just as quickly. Harry took an involuntary step backward as they grew nearer. That shouldn't have happened. There was only one rule, one constant when fighting Inferi: fire destroyed them.

His wand arm fell to his side. Unsure what to do next, he looked to Riddle. The Minister's wand was a blur, emitting a rainbow of curses. It seemed he was targeting one inferius at a time. Harry's eyes followed Riddle's curses down range, where an inferius was cut cleanly in half at the waist, the two parts twitching as they hit the ground. Even before the curses landed, the Minister had moved on to his next target.

The Aurors had adopted the same strategy, albeit without Riddle's deadly precision. But for every one that fell, another two stepped forward. Harry decided to follow the Minister's lead.

Sweat poured from Harry's brow as he took down dozens of them, one at a time. With a piercing hex between the eyes, an inferius fell backward, unmoving. Harry cleaved the head from another. Yet another exploded in a shower of gore.

Almost as if it sensed a threat, one inferius rushed ahead of the group, right towards Harry and Dumbledore. A purple ribbon of light erupted from Harry's wand, striking the inferius in the abdomen. The creature ambled forward as the bottom half of its stomach fell open, grey intestines sliding out and dangling to the ground. Stumbling as its foot became caught on its entrails, it pitched forward, landing face-first on the rocky ground. Harry cringed, feeling the bile rise up in his throat. He didn't know whether to laugh or vomit.

In that instant, something changed.

The grey swarm glowed, for just a moment, then faded. An inferius pointed a rotting finger at him. Maybe it was nothing, but Harry doubted it.

A sharp pain in his leg proved him right. He fell to the sand, the leg buckling beneath him. It was gashed, nearly to the bone, and blood poured from the wound. The inferius had cursed him, he realized. It shouldn't have been possible.

He felt an electricity in the air, then, and he looked back. Dumbledore held his wand aloft. The Headmaster's eyes burned, pools of cerulean fire dancing in the night. It was a look of fury and lost restraint-a look that Harry had never seen on his mentor's face.

There was a roar as the sea shifted again. Dumbledore twirled his wand, and the two walls of water rose even higher, towering above them now. As the Headmaster dropped his arm to his side, everything went silent.

For a moment, the Channel was still. Harry's eyes widened as the water fell, instantaneously, as if the floor had dropped away beneath it. The two walls converged, smashing together with a clap that left Harry's ears ringing. The water shifted as it moved, morphing and hardening. Before their eyes, it changed from a dark blue to grey. Stone. The ground beneath them quaked as tons upon tons of slate crashed into the horde.

Just like that, they had won.

Harry let out a breath he'd been holding, smiling at Dumbledore's display of magic. Shifting so he could better see his leg, he grimaced.

With a crack, another Auror apparated in behind them. He ran forward.

"Minister, Chief Warlock." The man bowed, speaking quickly. "Grindelwald breached our anti-apparition wards."

"It was just a diversion, then" Riddle said, his fists clenched. "Where is he?"

"The North Country," the Auror said. "A village called Little Hangleton."


End file.
